"Do you keep your balls in a baggie around your neck or does your old lady keep them in a box at home for you?" Rio glares malevolently. "After all, you clearly don't use them in the aggressive art of sales." Before the guy can take actions to avenge the insult Valerie steps up.

"What he's trying to tell you, Rio, is that you pick a ride you can push off on your own, or lift to a standing position," Valerie explains.

"I've never had that bad a spill but my Mom did. Before I was born she was out riding around, slipped off the road and crashed. She broke her leg pretty badly and she was alone. The thing was she could, and did, right her ride and get to a gas station fifteen miles away because she had a bike she could handle, not necessary the one she wanted because it looked cool," Valerie tells us all; an individual lesson aimed at Rio would be taken the wrong way by her - guaranteed.

"Fine, fine," Rio gripes, "But if he shows me a pink motorcycle with tassels on the handlebars I'm going to burn this place to the ground."

After that things proceed much more smoothly. I sort of wish my ride is as macho as Valerie's well-seasoned HD Fatboy but she'd been riding since she was twelve and lived off her bike since she was fifteen. I'd driven a scooter twice in Thailand but I opted to not have the other bikers mock me by informing them of this fact.

"What are you talking about...oh, Zane, my Mom rides bikes the way the Comanche ride horses," Valerie gives me a secret grin. "As far as I know she's never spilled a bike or even knocked one over in her life. I made that up for Rio's sake."

"Thank you for that Valarie. Well, at least the dealer dissuaded her of the 'my bitch rides in the sidecar' scheme," I sigh.

"I did it for you both, Zane. I like the pint-sized hormonal psycho," Valarie grins. "Besides, once he informed her that mounting a machinegun on it would no longer make it no longer 'street legal' she soured on the whole idea, but I'm starting to think the old bastard is taking a shine to her."

"Of course it has nothing to do with him showing her the kickstand assembly and her bending over while scratching her ass," Barbie Lynn snuck up on us. "I should warn her and Mercy that when that they've triple-rolled their skirt's waistbands up and forgotten to roll them back down. Maybe not," she sucks on the tip of her finger and gives me a wink, "it isn't like you can see their underwear when they are standing up - barely."

Barbie Lynn is a mixed blessing. Yes, we get serviced super-quick but the mechanics nearly had a brawl trying to get to her first. Belle had to invoke her mystic bad-ass-ness by taking off her sunglasses and looking at them. They know who she is, and how many dorks she's put in the hospital and this stops them faster than a Police Academy ring at a drug buy (Belle gave me that one because it happened to her).

Speaking of which, Willa, unbidden, has decided to hover close to Iona because my little Brainiac still hasn't completely become used to the concept that the world can be a very dangerous place. Some unknown biker, not associated with the dealership, tried to get Iona into the office in the back of the showroom to talk about 'warranty plans'. Willa glided up on him and asked if their tool replacement policy covered a ratchet wrench shoved up his ass. He took a bathroom break and was not seen again. I was keeping an eye out, but I still owe her.

I don't have any of those problems. I am not only the guy – I am the Dude. I am the Dude who has multiple partnerships with different babes every night. I try to explain that these are merely snippets of my life and that I do a variety of other things – none of which holds the slightest interest for them.

"Dude! You can still walk after that much sexy? You are the Man!" is the general response to their recognition of me – except for the dealer who I caught trying to hide a picture of his daughters; two seem to be very hot and the right age – what the hell am I thinking!?

"Oh Zane," Paige scrambles up to me. "They have leather halter tops and micro-miniskirts here; can you get some for me?"

"You have to promise to model them," I demand. Paige puts her hands on her hips, spreads her legs and gives me a deadly serious look.

"You are treating me like a sex object," she accuses me. I reach out and stroke the side of her head, from the tip of her chin to her right ear.

"Yes," I murmur, "Yes I am."

"Well, if that's the only way I'm can get them," she huffs, rolls her eyes, and skips away. The second she is out of sight, Valarie smacks me on the back of the head. I turn to protest to Valarie and Belle smacks me on the same spot. I spin away so I can keep an eye on both of the biker chicks.

"Oh, come on," I protest. "That's just a game we play. I really do respect her, ya know?"

"Oh, we know you respect her," Valarie nods sagely.

"It's because you are drawing yet another psycho into your orbit, you moron," Belle adds with a smile.

"Oh come on, she's not that bad," I defend the albino...psycho.

"Zane, she's nuts about you, but not in the 'she does your laundry without asking' way but in the 'drugs you and chains you to a bed while forcing you read her a love story of your own creation' bat-shit crazy way," Valarie explains.

"That would never happen," I shake my head. Belle hits me again. I'm half-way to blocking her when I realize the futility of the gesture – I can't hold off both Val and Belle for very long so I might as well get this over with.

"It is the plot of Misery by Stephen King," Belle sneers. [Author's note: this is a gross over-simplification, I know]

"Wasn't he that the guy who hated animals and kept killing them off in creative ways?" I ask, "Oh, and that naked hot chick in the bathtub who becomes that wrinkly dead lady," I shudder. "Oh, and that huge book that can kill a Madagascar Hissing cockroach in one drop!" They are both about to beat the crap out of me.

"Fine," I fall back, trying to ward both off their blows. "I know who Stephen King is so you can stop hitting me – the books were The Shining and The Stand." Smack! The dealer puts his open hand forcefully to the back of my head.

"That's for making fun of Stephen King in my place," he growls. "The man does some wicked writing. I read "It" to my girls as a bedtime story." This dude is pretty messed up. Smack!

"Rio," I howl, "what was that for?"

"Everyone else was doing it and it looked fun," Rio beams at me. Smack!

"Mercy! You too?" I plead. The look on her face says it all – 'I thought I could get away with it.'

"Now where were we? Ah, you are going to regret bringing that one along," Belle teases me.

"Really," since I know jack about biker culture.

"Oh yeah," Valarie pointed out. "These macho he-men really don't like waking up drunk in bed, handcuffed and used like a sexual aid, not a person."

"Paige coming at them with a branding iron won't help the situation one bit," Belle nods.

"Oh, are we ganging up on Paige," Rio sings out. "I want in."

"PLP's three and four," Belle says under her breath. She must mean Chastity and Hope and I'm pretty sure they won't appreciate the descriptors. PLP stands for Pretty Little Princess's and I've heard Valarie use it a time or two, but not in their hearing.

"Hey Zane," Chastity calls out. "How is the expedition coming along?"

I am dealing with the surprise of these two's arrival when Valarie and Belle push pass me. Valarie hugs Chastity and Belle barely misses colliding with Hope when, at the last second, Belle realizes that Hope isn't the 'exhibits camaraderie' type.

"Hey Hope and Chastity," Valarie begins, "thanks for showing up." If this is an 'ambush' it is going to be a bloodbath.

"OCS doesn't start until November of next year so I'll have the time," Hope nods. "Thank you for the invitation."

"The same here," Chastity shakes hands with Belle. "My law school doesn't start until the first week in September and a last, wild fling will do us good; our first wild fling being over Spring Break of course."

"Belle's doing Spring Break with us too," Rio announces. By Belle's tilt of the head and lowering of the sunglasses while glaring at Rio, this is news to Belle as well as the rest of us. "She is older than Zane, so she can buy beer; she is more mature than Zane so we can find him if we lose him in a bar crawl, and she's has a predilection for beating up Sorority Chicks in case they enslave Zane too long."

That is a double whammy – inviting Belle and having three excellent reasons for her to come; who would have thought Rio capable of that?

"That works for me," Iona agrees as she and Paige return reading through some Owner's Manuals.

"A show of hands for Hope and Chastity," Valarie requests, "just so we can pretend to be democratic." There are no opposing votes, though Paige is hesitant as she sneaks a glance at Hope.

I am reminded that this is really the Valarie and Iona show and I am along for the ride, and my checkbook. I have to wrap my mind around the dynamics of the group – now clan – that is assembling. I suddenly feel like I'm in the Wild Ones but I'm Gringo, not Johnny or Chino; whatever that means – I've never actually seen the movie, but Belle says that's my role.

Iona shows me a price tag and I am hammered by my lack of education where motorcycles are concerned – namely I thought they cost about $2000, not $20,000 (though why Rio wants a Lighthouse Fog Horn on her is beyond me). Also, what do they make HD clothing out of anyway; virgin Manitoba flying reindeer? I could buy Paige (mainly) these clothes or I could put Paige through college for the next two years.

I call Uncle Josh. We talk for about 45 minutes. I don't string him along; in the second minute of the conversation I tell him what's going on and then I have to create an argument for what I'm doing with my money. It isn't 'my' my money in my mind. I'm eighteen and I know it. If I have any doubt that I'm going to make bad decisions at this age all I have to do is rub the tender spots on the back of my head.

What I have to prove to Josh is that this is not my dick talking, but my heart as well as my mind. In forty-five minutes he agrees and tells me the credit card charge will be paid – end of story. I've tacked on $20,000 (what, I'm insanely rich if you haven't figured this out yet) for Rio's ring that she's giving to Mercy. She is my best friend after all and I want her to have options. I'm not going to tell her the budget – that would be fiscally irresponsible.

The dealer is going to take most of our bikes, plus Belle's and Valarie's old bikes, back to my place (did you really think those two were helping us for free? Sure they like me but this is a Golden Opportunity they can't pass up). Valarie will be taking her new ride back to school. Belle makes a phone call to a detailing place and starts lining up some appointments for the whole gang.

Valarie does one better. She calls her Mom and drops the bomb on what a sweet new ride she's 'obtained'. You would swear they were Beverly Hills debutantes talking about the latest fashions at Vera Wang; I've never heard Valarie gush about anything with anybody before. She slips into the conversation that she's left her dorm room and moved into a guy's room with five other girls.

If I was taking a drink, I would be choking now. I wonder if when Damien Palmer breaks out prison he collides with Yeong Song and the two kill each other on the way to eviscerate me. I love their daughters but I want to live, ya know? Unfortunately, I want to be with beautiful women more than I'll accept living in fear. Valarie's Mom is totally cool with Valarie's decision and can't wait to meet me at Homecoming.

I guess I'm used to Prickly prickly Christian christian Moms, not Cool Moms who may or may not be Christian but don't make a big deal about it if they are. We all head out for a bite to eat because the FFU group has missed dinner. The regular crowd at the Red Lobster doesn't know what to make of us and I doubt any of our group cares.

(Felicity)

As we roll into the parking lot after dinner, I see Felicity Tolliver disembarking from her own little two-door coupe with a canvas bag full of books. She looks our way and smiles. Rio and Barbie Lynn depart my car like Spider Monkeys scenting fresh fruit. I'm left explaining things to Mercy. Those two have whisked Felicity to our dorm and most likely my room as I keep one hand on Mercy and make my good-byes to Hope and Chastity.

On the elevator ride up, I explain the dynamic between Rio, Barbie Lynn and Felicity. Iona does her level best to reassure Mercy while Valarie poises prepares for any rash actions on Mercy's part. Paige looks secretly amused but is sharp enough to not antagonize Mercy right now. We might just let Mercy beat her up and she can't outrun her when we're stuck in an elevator.

When we get upstairs to my floor it turns out Rio and Barbie Lynn are being very polite and showing her Felicity all the features of the place. Felicity seems a bit overwhelmed and gravitates toward me when I make my appearance. I don't waste a moment of time.

"Hey Felicity, "I say as she hugs me in an overly-familiar style never shown before. I see it more as someone grabbing an anchor rather than sexual attraction.

"Hello Zane," Felicity sighs, her tension draining somewhat. This is not the school she remembers after all. "You and the ladies have done such great things."

"These are the same juniors, sophomores and freshmen you were at school with last year," I remind her. She nods her understanding. "Felicity, this is Mercy Chaplain," I introduce the woman on my arm, "she is Rio's girlfriend."

It takes a moment to sink in. Rio's look sent my way is conflicted. I'm ruining her game, but I'm doing my job as both hers and Mercy's friend and she refuses to begrudge me that. Felicity finally nods then steps up and hugs Mercy to her. "Well, I hope we become fast friends then," she states as she places her hands on Mercy's upper arms and give flashes a million watt smile.

I could bowl Mercy over with a feather. Rio and I are doing the same social mechanics and come to the same conclusion. There are three reasons to marry a gay guy; money, social pressure and camouflage. Felicity doesn't need the money, so we simply assumed it to be no. 2. We totally missed the other reason; Felicity is a lesbian. Rio takes it in her slow and easy style. She walks up and puts Felicity in a gentley Mercy – Felicity – Rio sandwich.

"I am going to have so much fun breaking you in," Rio whispers affectionately to Felicity. "When you get good at it, I'll let you play with Mercy – she likes to be played with but you have to be firm. Do you like it firm and hard, my most favorite and annoying little Ass-Tramp?" Subtle like a freaking tsunami. Mercy recovers from her shock to nod her head vigorously.

"What about Barbie Lynn?" Felicity inquires with velvet hunger.

"She's Zane's," Rio informs her. Felicity looks a bit disappointed. "Zane shares her though, so don't expect her to fall in love with you," then leans in and up, "but you'll find out her lips, titties and ass are to die for. Now let's go back to my room and let me show you some things," Rio grins, looks over her shoulder and gives me a wink. Who's room?

Barbie Lynn pats my ass then skips after the trio.

"We are going to lube up Mercy and try out some of the basics," Rio instructs Felicity. "We'll see what intrigues you then I'll send you home with some toys to practice with and – well – loosen you up a bit. Mercy didn't become fantastic overnight. I had to work on her a lot. See..." and the conversation is drowned out by the rest of the students on the floor.

No one has batted an eye about Mercy, Rio, and/or Felicity either. Maybe I really am the downfall of the Judeo-Christian tradition after all. Rio is taking responsibility for Mercy. Mercy just stepped out to the World as her true self – a tiny, tiny step anyway. Barbie Lynn is playing Dorm Mother in spades and in a manner way beyond the Handbook's job description.

Valarie, Vivian and Iona have gathered together then when Vivian finger-beckons me over. I saunter over to see what's going to go wrong with my life next – and if they have any Tribbles hiding there I'm going to burn the little bastards in the sink. That's not what brings me over.

"All the Advocate-candidates have been approached and agreed to serve," Vivian seems amused to inform me. "They want what little ceremony exists to be performed and the Advocates sworn in at 9pm."

"Has someone worked on an Oath of Office," I groan. 'To one's self be true' – what else can I say?

"It seems some of the prelaw students actually had a little contest and they've put something together," Vivian smiles warmly. "It has been downloaded to your phone – it is under Advocate Oath of Office."

"Why are you being such a smart ass?" I look her over. "Hasn't my day been bad enough?"

"Zane, have you seen your phone log for the past twelve hours?" Vivian asks me. I have been ignoring my phone, in fact. I check it now and I bless those hard working Taiwanese and the huge memory capacity they've put in my global lifeline; otherwise my phone would have melted down hours ago.

Fuck, I have phone calls from people I don't even know – who live in...France, Germany, Brazil and Belarus? I rack my mind to remember where Belarus is – blonde-haired, blue eyed Slavic ladies – now I know! The viewing of Star Trek humiliations seem to be universal but at least they don't know my name or face. There is some serious Time Lord Mafia paddling over this one. They've used my damn private phone number.

"When do you think you'll talk to Rio," Iona asks cautiously.

"I'll take care of that right now, while she's feeling happy and playful," I comfort Iona. "Besides, it could be worse; everyone is looking for a pudgy Sasquatch, not me." The three ladies all stare at me. "Oh fuck," I groan.

"But your transformation into is a fur-ball is truly precious," Valarie comforts/mocks me. "All my gal-pals out West think you are so cute; Phoenix, one of my Mom's jailbird friends, even used the 'too cute' emoticon and I didn't even think she knew what emoticons were. She sent it to all her buds still in lock-up too."

"Great, I'm popular in a women's correctional facility – at least it is in another state," I sigh upward. I pray to God that never becomes relevant. "Hell, I have a housewife in Belarus she wants me as a house pet."

She shows me the 'entirety' of the girl's message. Nice bikini, or what there is of it and I can't imagine it being too practical that far north. She is divorced, with a one year old son, 22 years old and fresh out of college with a job as a PR specialist for a real estate development firm. She also speaks seven freaking languages – I feel like such an underachiever right now – or male underwear model.